The Astounding Science Fiction Anthology

by John W. Campbell Jr.

  “Pardon me, sir,” said Hefni, quickly, “there are twenty-seven millions of them.”

  “Ah!” Cruin registered sharp interest. “Only twenty-seven millions? Why, there’s a hundred times that number on Huld which has no greater area of land surface.” He mused a moment “Greatly underpopulated. Many cities devoid of a living soul. They have air machines and other items suggestive of a civilization greater than the one they now enjoy. They operate the remnants of an economic system. You realize what all this means?”

  Hefni blinked, made no reply. Kalma looked thoughtful. Fane and Parth remained blank-faced and tight-lipped.

  “It means two things,” Cruin pursued. “War or disease. One or the other, or perhaps both—and on a large scale. I want information on that. I’ve got to learn what sort of weapons they employed in their war, how many of them remain available, and where. Or, alternatively, what disease ravished their numbers, its source, and its cure.” He tapped Hefni’s chest to emphasize his words. “I want to know what they’ve got hidden away, what they’re trying to keep from your knowledge against the time when they can bring it out and use it against us. Above all, I want to know which people will issue orders for their general offensive and where they are located.”

  “I understand, sir,” said Hefni, doubtfully.

  “That’s the sort of information I need from your six specimens. I want information, not invitations to meals!” His grin was ugly as he noted Hefni’s wince. “If you can get it out of them before they’re due here, I shall enter the fact on the credit side of your records. But if I, your commander, have to do your job by extracting it from them myself—” Ominously, he left the sentence unfinished.

  Hefni opened his mouth, closed it, glanced nervously at Kalma who stood stiff and dumb at his side.

  “You may go,” Cruin snapped at the four of them. “You have one week. If you fail me, I shall deem it a front-line offense and deal with it in accordance with the active-service section of the manual of procedure and discipline.”

  They were pale as they saluted. He watched them file out, his lips curling contemptuously. Going to the port, he gazed into the gathering darkness, saw a pale star winking in the east. Low and far it was—but not so far as Huld.

  In the mid-period of the sixteenth day, Commander Cruin strode forth polished and bemedaled, directed his bell-jangling feet toward the hill. A sour-faced guard saluted him at the edge of the ash and made a slovenly job of it.

  “Is that the best you can do?” He glared into the other’s surly eyes. “Repeat it!”

  The guard saluted a fraction more swiftly.

  “You’re out of practice,” Cruin informed. “Probably all the crews are out of practice. We’ll find a remedy for that. We’ll have a period of saluting drill every day.” His glare went slowly up and down the guard’s face. “Are you dumb?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Shut up!” roared Cruin. He expanded his chest. “Continue with your patrol.”

  The guard’s optics burned with resentment as he saluted for the third time, turned with the regulation heel-click and marched along the perimeter.

  Mounting the hill, Cruin sat on the stone at the top. Alternately he viewed the ships lying in the valley and the opposite scene with its trees, fields and distant houses. The metal helmet with its ornamental wings was heavy upon his head but he did not remove it. In the shadow beneath the projecting visor, his cold eyes brooded over the landscape to one side and the other.

  She came eventually. He had been sitting there for one and a half periods when she came as he had known she would—without knowing what weird instinct had made him certain of this. Certainly, he had no desire to see her—no desire at all.

  Through the trees she tripped light-footed, with Sue and Sam and three other girls of her own age. The newcomers had large, dark, humorous eyes, their hair was dark, and they were leggy.

  “Oh, hello!” She paused as she saw him.

  “Hello!” echoed Sue, swinging her pigtails.

  “Lo!” piped Sam, determined not to be left out.

  Cruin frowned at them. There was a high gloss on his jack boots, and his helmet glittered in the sun.

  “These are my friends,” said Marva, in her alien-accented Huldian. “Becky, Rita and Joyce.”

  The three smiled at him.

  “I brought them to see the ships.”

  Cruin said nothing.

  “You don’t mind them looking at the ships, do you?”

  “No,” he growled with reluctance.

  Lankily but gracefully she seated herself on the grass. The others followed suit with the exception of Sam who stood with fat legs braced apart sucking his thumb, and solemnly studying Cruin’s decorated jacket.

  “Father was disappointed because you could not visit us.”

  Cruin made no reply.

  “Mother was sorry, too. She’s a wonderful cook. She loves a guest.”

  No reply.

  “Would you care to come this evening?”

  “No.”

  “Some other evening?”

  “Young lady,” he harshed, severely, “I do not pay visits. Nobody pays visits.”

  She translated this to the others. They laughed so heartily that Cruin reddened and stood up.

  “What’s funny about that?” he demanded.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Marva was embarrassed. “If I told you, I fear that you would not understand.”

  “I would not understand.” His grim eyes became alert, calculating as they went over her three friends. “I do not think, somehow, that they were laughing at me. Therefore they were laughing at what I do not know. They were laughing at something I ought to know but which you do not wish to tell me.” He bent over her, huge and muscular, while she looked up at him with her great green eyes. “And what remark of mine revealed my amusing ignorance?”

  Her steady gaze remained on him while she made no answer. A faint but sweet scent exuded from her hair.

  “I said that nobody pays visits,” he repeated. “That was the amusing remark—nobody pays visits. And I am not a fool!” Straightening, he turned away. “So I am going to call the rolls!”

  He could feel their eyes upon him as he started down the valley. They were silent except for Sam’s high-pitched, childish, “Bye!” which he ignored.

  Without once looking back, he gained his flagship, mounted its metal ladder, made his way to the office and summoned Jusik.

  “Order the captains to call their rolls at once.”

  “Is something wrong, sir?” inquired Jusik, anxiously.

  “Call the rolls!” Cruin bellowed, whipping off his helmet. “Then we’ll know whether anything is wrong.” Savagely, he flung the helmet onto a wall hook, sat down, mopped his forehead.

  Jusik was gone for most of a period. In the end he returned, set-faced, grave.

  “I regret to report that eighteen men are absent, sir.”

  “They laughed,” said Cruin, bitterly. “They laughed—because they knew!” His knuckles were white as his hands gripped the arms of his chair.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Jusik’s eyebrows lifted.

  “How long have they been absent?”

  “Eleven of them were on duty this morning.”

  “That means the other seven have been missing since yesterday?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  “But no one saw fit to inform me of this fact?”

  Jusik fidgeted. “No, sir.”

  “Have you discovered anything else of which I have not been informed?”

  The other fidgeted again, looked pained.

  “Out with it, man!”

  “It is not the absentees’ first offense,” Jusik said with difficulty. “Nor their second. Perhaps not their sixth.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Cruin waited a while, then bawled: “Come on! You are capable of speech!”

  “About ten days, sir.”

  “How many captains were aware of this a
nd failed to report it?”

  “Nine, sir. Four of them await your bidding outside.”

  “And what of the other five?”

  “They… they—” Jusik licked his lips.

  Cruin arose, his expression dangerous. “You cannot conceal the truth by delaying it.”

  “They are among the absentees, sir.”

  “I see!” Cruin stamped to the door, stood by it. “We can take it for granted that others have absented themselves without permission, but were fortunate enough to be here when the rolls were called. That is their good luck. The real total of the disobedient cannot be discovered. They have sneaked away like nocturnal animals, and in the same manner they sneak back. All are guilty of desertion in the face of the enemy. There is one penalty for that.”

  “Surely, sir, considering the circ—”

  “Considering nothing!” Cruin’s voice shot up to an enraged shout. “Death! The penalty is death!” Striding to the table, he hammered the books lying upon it. “Summary execution as laid down in the manual of procedure and discipline. Desertion, mutinous conduct, defiance of a superior officer, conspiracy to thwart regulations and defy my orders—all punishable by death!” His voice lowered as swiftly as it had gone up. “Besides, my dear Jusik, if we fail through disintegration attributable to our own deliberate disregard of the manuals, what will be the penalty payable by us? What will it be, eh?”

  “Death,” admitted Jusik. He looked at Cruin. “On Huld, anyway.”

  “We are on Huld! This is Huld! I have claimed this planet in the name of Huld and therefore it is part of it.”

  “A mere claim, sir, if I may say—”

  “Jusik, are you with these conspirators in opposing my authority?” Cruin’s eyes glinted. His hand lay over his gun.

  “Oh, no, sir!” The second commander’s features mirrored the emotions conflicting within him. “But permit me to point out, sir, that we are a brotherly band who’ve been cooped together a long, long time and already have suffered losses getting here as we shall do getting back. One can hardly expect the men to—”

  “I expect obedience!” Cruin’s hand remained on the gun. “I expect iron discipline and immediate, willing, unquestionable obedience. With those, we conquer. Without them, we fail.” He gestured to the door. “Are those captains properly prepared for examination as directed in the manuals?”

  “Yes, sir. They are disarmed and under guard.”

  “Parade them in.” Leaning on the edge of his desk, Cruin prepared to pass judgment on his fellows. The minute he waited for them was long, long as any minute he had ever known.

  There had been scent in her hair.

  And her eyes were cool and green.

  Iron discipline must be maintained.

  The price of power.

  The manual provided an escape. Facing the four captains, he found himself taking advantage of the legal loophole to substitute demotion for the more drastic and final penalty.

  Tramping the room before them while they stood in a row, pale-faced and rigid, their tunics unbuttoned, their ceremonial belts missing, the guards impassive on either side of them, he rampaged and swore and sprinkled them with verbal vitriol while his right fist hammered steadily into the palm of his left hand.

  “But since you were present at the roll call, and therefore are not technically guilty of desertion, and since you surrendered yourself to my judgment immediately you were called upon to do so, I hereby sentence you to be demoted to the basic rank, the circumstances attending this sentence to be entered in your records.” He dismissed them with a curt flourish of his white-gloved hand. “That is all.”

  They filed out silently.

  He looked at Jusik. “Inform the respective lieutenant captains that they are promoted to full captains and now must enter recommendations for their vacated positions. These must be received by me before nightfall.”

  “As you order, sir.”

  “Also warn them to prepare to attend a commanding officer’s court which will deal with the lower-ranking absentees as and when they reappear. Inform Captain Somir that he is appointed commander of the firing squad which will carry out the decisions of the court immediately they are pronounced.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gaunt and hollow-eyed, Jusik turned with a click of heels and departed.

  When the closer had shut the door, Cruin sat at his desk, placed his elbows on its surface, held his face in his hands. If the deserters did not return, they could not be punished. No power, no authority could vent its wrath upon an absent body. The law was impotent if its subjects lacked the essential feature of being present. All the laws of Huld could not put memories of lost men before a firing squad.

  It was imperative that he make an example of the offenders. Their sly, furtive trips into the enemy’s camp, he suspected, had been repeated often enough to have become a habit. Doubtless by now they were settled wherever they were visiting, sharing homes—welcome rooms—sharing food, company, laughter. Doubtless they had started to regain weight, to lose the space lines on their cheeks and foreheads, and the light in their eyes had begun to burn anew; and they had talked with signs and pictures, played games, tried to suck smoke things, and strolled with girls through the fields and the glades.

  A pulse was beating steadily in the thickness of his neck as he stared through the port and waited for some sign that the tripled ring of guards had caught the first on his way in. Down, down, deep down inside him at a depth too great for him to admit that it was there, lay the disloyal hope that none would return.

  One deserter would mean the slow, shuffling tread of the squad, the hoarse calls of “Aim!” and “Fire!” and the stepping forward of Somir, gun in hand, to administer the mercy shot.

  Damn the manuals.

  At the end of the first period after nightfall Jusik burst into the office, saluted, breathed heavily. The glare of the ceiling illumination deepened the lines on his thin features, magnified the bristles on his unshaven chin.

  “Sir, I have to report that the men are getting out of control.”

  “What d’you mean?” Cruin’s heavy brows came down as he stared fiercely at the other.

  “They know of the recent demotions, of course. They know also that a court will assemble to deal with the absentees.” He took another long-drawn breath. “And they also know the penalty these absentees must face.”

  “So?”

  “So more of them have deserted—they’ve gone to warn the others not to return.”

  “Ah!” Cruin smiled lopsidedly. “The guards let them walk out, eh? Just like that?”

  “Ten of the guards went with them,” said Jusik.

  “Ten?” Coming up fast, Cruin moved near to the other, studied him searchingly. “How many went altogether?”

  “Ninety-seven.”

  Grabbing his helmet, Cruin slammed it on, pulled the metal chin strap over his jaw muscles. “More than one complete crew.” He examined his gun, shoved it back, strapped on a second one. “At that rate they’ll all be gone by morning.” He eyed Jusik. “Don’t you think so?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, sir.”

  Cruin patted his shoulder. “The answer, Jusik, is an easy one—we take off immediately.”

  “Take off?”

  “Most certainly. The whole fleet. We’ll strike a balanced orbit where it will be impossible for any man to leave. I will then give the situation more thought. Probably we’ll make a new landing in some locality where none will be tempted to sneak away because there’ll be nowhere to go. A scout can pick up Fane and his party in due course.”

  “I doubt whether they’ll obey orders for departure, sir.”

  “We’ll see, we’ll see.” He smiled again, hard and craggy. “As you would know if you’d studied the manuals properly, it is not difficult to smash incipient mutiny. All one has to do is remove the ringleaders. No mob is composed of men, as such. It is made up of a few ringleaders and a horde of stupid followers.” He patted his guns. “You can al
ways tell a ringleader—invariably he is the first to open his mouth!”

  “Yes, sir,” mouthed Jusik, with misgivings.

  “Sound the call for general assembly.”

  The flagship’s siren wailed dismally in the night. Lights flashed from ship to ship, and startled birds woke up and squawked in the trees beyond the ash.

  Slowly, deliberately, impressively, Cruin came down the ladder, faced the audience whose features were a mass of white blobs in the glare of the ships’ beams. The captains and lieutenant captains ranged themselves behind him and to either side. Each carried an extra gun.

  “After three years of devoted service to Huld,” he enunciated pompously, “some men have failed me. It seems that we have weaklings among us, weaklings unable to stand the strain of a few extra days before our triumph. Careless of their duty they disobey orders, fraternize with the enemy, consort with our opponents’ females, and try to snatch a few creature comforts at the expense of the many.” His hard, accusing eyes went over them. “In due time they will be punished with the utmost severity.”

  They stared back at him expressionlessly. He could shoot the ears off a running man at twenty-five yards, and he was waiting for his target to name itself. So were those at his side.

  None spoke.

  “Among you may be others equally guilty but not discovered. They need not congratulate themselves, for they are about to be deprived of further opportunities to exercise their disloyalty.” His stare kept flickering over them while his hand remained ready at his side. “We are going to trim the ships and take off, seeking a balanced orbit. That means lost sleep and plenty of hard work for which you have your treacherous comrades to thank.” He paused a moment, finished with: “Has anyone anything to say?”

  One man holding a thousand.

  Silence.

  “Prepare for departure,” he snapped, and turned his back upon them.